


Red Sword at Night, Soldier's Delight

by MagitekUnit05953234



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Light Angst, Mentioned Ignis Scientia, Mentioned Noctis Lucis Caelum, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, World of Ruin, Y'know how the guys drift apart?, let Prompto have his cool sword from his DLC I beg you, yeah - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-07-25 07:46:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16193186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagitekUnit05953234/pseuds/MagitekUnit05953234
Summary: Prompto used to cheer at the end of fights, throwing himself onto his nearest friend, yelling about dinner or something equally inane. Now he bandages his wounds without a word and continues on. No point in celebrating if there's no one to celebrate with.





	Red Sword at Night, Soldier's Delight

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt "swords" from Tumblr user raneam-o1's gothic prompt list.

Prompto didn't think he'd ever see one of these things again, but life has a funny way of surprising him. 

The audax blade sputters and dies as its owner does, the laser fading into nothingness. While Prompto would usually take a moment to appreciate how one of these things managed to make its way to him after all this time when it isn’t anywhere near standard issue for invasion troops, he doesn't really have the time to contemplate life's mysteries. Prompto chucks his jammed revolver at the MT that is rounding on him. He wills his weapon to dissolve after he hears the impact of gun against helmet, then dives for the blade. 

Like it or not, nothing feels more at home in Prompto’s hands than imperial weaponry —not even his camera— and today is no different than any other day. The audax blade sits pretty in gun-calloused fingers, already blazing to life. 

The MTs, defective and screeching, are short work after that.

There seems to be more and more of the defective ones lately, barely able to land on their feet after dropping from their ships. They spark and explode unpredictably, tearing as their own chestpieces and faceplates. Sometimes it almost sounds as if they’re breathing under all that rattling armor. Prompto tries to kill ‘em quick. 

There's something sobering about standing in the midst of your family, dead and dissolving at your own hands, staring up at the swirling green-black void above. Prompto used to cheer at the end of fights, throwing himself onto his nearest friend, yelling about dinner or something equally inane. Now he bandages his wounds without a word and continues on. No point in celebrating if there's no one to celebrate with. 

Prompto holds the button on the hilt of the audax blade and flicks his wrist. The blade dissipates and the frame collapsing into a rectangle, easily attachable to Prompto’s belt. It doesn’t feel right to put the blade in the arsenal, so Prompto doesn’t. 

The weight against Prompto’s back is a comfort. He continues on toward Lestallum with one hand trailing back to rest on the blades grip at the slightest hint of danger on the road. Nothing’s come up yet, but it's only a matter of time without daemon-repelling lights handy. 

Prompto should have taken a car, or at least a chocobo. He could have, too. He didn't though. Why take something someone else needs more?

Lucks runs out five kilometers from the city. The pavement bubbles and blazes with miasma, right beneath a flickering streetlight. Prompto isn’t optimistic enough to think that the damn streetlight will help him at all. 

Prompto’s heart sinks as he sees what begins to emerge from the ground. It couldn't have been some imps or arachne or even an iron giant. That would be too easy. No, it’s a red giant because of course it is. 

Prompto draws his blade. It’s no match for the red giant. Hell, Prompto couldn't take one of those down with any less than six other hunters at his side… or his three best friends. 

Prompto has to keep moving. There’s a steep drop-off on either side of the road, keeping him from escaping that way. Even if he could, the nearest haven is notorious for flickering and failing while it's occupants are asleep, and Prompto has no intentions of being ripped apart by daemons tonight. Maybe next week. Tonight, Prompto wants to sleep in a bed so he has to get through this. 

Doesn’t look like he’ll live to see a bed, but he tries not to think too hard about that. 

The red giant towers over Prompto. The audax blade feels like a cheap imitation of the giant's flaming cleaver, and Prompto’s grip tightens. It’ll be a real swordfight, then, Prompto against an entity that could kill him in seconds if he isn’t careful. Lovely. Great. 

Prompto may not know much real swordsmanship, seeing as he got pulled into firearm courses pretty quickly after starting ‘Guard training, but his natural prowess with magitek just might be enough to keep him alive. Maybe. 

The cleaver swings down, an arc of light in the gloom. Prompto ducks to the side, well-acquainted with the battle tells of this type of daemon. 

At least he’s got that. 

Prompto steels himself and darts forward as the red giant works to recover its balance. It occurs to Prompto, as he goes, that a reverse grip might not have been the smartest way to hold a sword against a hulking monstrosity like this no matter what the sword’s design is intended. He can't block with the blade like this, even if he had the strength to try. 

The laser edge of Prompto’s blade doesn’t do a thing against the red giant. It ricochets off with the same metallic clamor that used to follow Noctis through fights like these. 

Prompto sidestep, rolls, and tries again. The best thing he’s got is his maneuverability. It goes alright… until it doesn't. 

The red giant drags Prompto in with a gravity well, and Prompto can't get away fast enough to avoid the massive curled fist descending on him. The last vestiges of the gravity well cling to Prompto, pinning him in place. 

Prompto drops his blade and waits. 

“Eyes up, Argentum!” A hand clasps around Prompto’s bicep and drags him just far enough to the right to avoid his timely demise. Prompto rolls onto his stomach and rises to his knees. 

The actual fucking Immortal has come to Prompto's rescue. He faces down the daemon with the confidence that only Cor goddamm Leonis could muster in the middle of the apocalypse. 

Cor blocks the red giant’s next swing in the same manner Noctis always used to. Maybe that's where he learned it. That’d make sense. 

“Prompto, get up!” Cor kicks the audax blade over to Prompto. “You feel like dying today?”

“No sir!” Prompto snatches up his weapon and joins Cor's side. Cor’s katana gleams in the light of the red giant's cleaver. “I’m with you!”

* * *

When it’s all over, Cor stands by his chocobo and watches Prompto run bottled water over what is probably turning out to be a second degree burn. It’s beginning to blister. “The hell were you doing with that against a red giant?”

“Gun jammed,” Prompto summons his revolver and twirl it. “I think it's the ejector star. Didn’t have time to fix it on the road, so I stuck with the blade.”

Cor nods, slowly. “You're not much cop with Lucian swords, but imperial blades are a whole different class. You’re not half bad with that thing. Come see me when you have some time. With some real training you could take down more than a scrap MT or two with that.”

“Thank you sir,” Prompto neglects to mention the MTs he already downed as he wraps his arm with the last of the gauze in the arsenal. He probably does it wrong but Cor doesn’t comment. “For that and uh… for saving my ass.”

“Take a chocobo next time,” Cor slides into the saddle of his own and nudges it forward, back the way that Prompto came from. “They managed to make a few daemon-repelling bird lights before they ran out of mithril. You can use one as long as you don't lose it.”

“Okay,” Prompto shuffles his feet. He suddenly feels pretty foolish, out in the middle of nowhere with his piddly little stolen blade and his broken gun and the stupid scraggly start of a goatee he has been too lazy to bother shaving off yet. “I will.”

“See that you do,” Cor doesn't quite call over his shoulder, but it's a close thing. He seems to be in a bit of a hurry. 

“Um… Marshal!?” Prompto jogs to catch up with Cor’s chocobo. “Where’re you off to?”

“Vesperpool.”

“Do you uh, need some backup?” Prompto’s voice cracks and  _ gods  _ if that isn’t embarrassing. “Or want any? You probably don’t  _ need _ any. I know you don’t need any—”

Cor stops dead and Prompto almost runs right into the chocobo’s backside. Prompto catches himself in time, but it’s close. “Don’t you have your friends to get back to?”

If Prompto spends one more minute in that apartment with Ignis and Gladio, he’ll tear himself apart. He loves those guys, but things have been rough lately. Gladio’s madder than anything at Prompto for taking so many sl hunts. Gladio’s convinced that Prompto has developed a reckless streak a mile wide and has lost whatever self-preservation skills he’s got. 

Well. What Prompto does with his life is his business until Noct’s back. If Prompto wants to run into the night and blow off steam by putting bullets through every MT he can draw to the ground, then he will. Even if it just makes him a little sad. 

Gladio’s one to talk anyway. He’s been running himself ragged ever since Noct vanished, doing some sort of grueling training regimen every day where the main goal seems to be making yourself feel as bad as physically possible when you’re done. Prompto tried following along with Gladio once and didn’t want to get out of bed for days. 

Ignis is… Ignis. Pretending nothing's wrong and all. Prompto worries, but Ignis will talk about things when he needs to. Prompto knows it. 

Until then, Prompto doesn't really feel much need to return “home” all the time. He just planned on collecting his hunt rewards, picking up a few more jobs in the meantime, and heading right back out after a few hours of shuteye. 

The streetlight flickers. 

“Not right now,” Prompto accidentally hits the burned portion of his arm against his leg and sucks a pained breath in through his teeth.

“Go home Prompto,” Cor turns to face Prompto, leaning down a little from his seat on his bird. His eyes, icy blue and usually both cold and hard to match, have an odd light in them. “Get patched up. Eat a square meal. Talk to your friends. I’ll find you when I’m back in Lestallum.”

Prompto can't really bring himself to say no to the Marshal, so he agrees and heads back to the city. He’s met at the door of his shared apartment by Gladio, who’s relieved look melts into a scowl when his eyes land on Prompto’s hastily wrapped burn.

“I know,” Prompto says before Gladio can start yelling. “I know, alright? I’m uh. Just gonna let it heal. Not gonna go out on hunts for a while. Got enough gil to last a while anyway.”

Gladio inhales. Pauses. Exhales. “Good.”

Things aren't exactly comfortable once Prompto’s set up shop in their apartment, but there’s no palpably hostile tension in the air and that’s better than it’s been for a while. It’s a start. 

“What’s that?” Gladio inquires as Prompto gets to work cleaning his gun. As it turns out, it  _ was _ the ejector star that was messing up the rest of the gun. Prompto cleans out the bit of uninvited powder that was stopping the ejector star from functioning and glances up. 

“What’s what?”

Gladio points at the audax blade, folded and dormant on the table beside the scattered supplies from Prompto’s gun maintenance kit. “Picked up something new out there.”

“Oh this?” Prompto sets down his revolver. He takes up the blade, pretty in gun-calloused fingers, and grins. “Check this out.”

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on Twitter [@compromisedunit](https://mobile.twitter.com/compromisedunit)!


End file.
